All Days Are Night by Peter Stamm

wriggled through, the proximity of so many others was suddenly disagreeable to her. During the train ride, she remained standing by the door.
    By the time she got there, it was almost dark. She hadn’t taken an umbrella, and her face and hair were wet as she strode quickly down the passageway of the studio building. She walked in without knocking. Hubert was on the sofa, reading the newspaper, beside him on the floor was a bottle of beer. He put the newspaper away and looked up at her. She dropped her coat on the sofa beside him. He looked apathetic. He got up and kissed her on both cheeks.
    Are you ready?
    Gillian stooped to pick up the beer bottle, took a long drink, and set it back on the floor. She looked at him and nodded. Hubert said she could leave her things on the sofa and went over to the easel to fix the backboard.
    The floor’s not very clean I’m afraid, he said with his back to her. Sorry.
    In front of the easel stood the empty chair that Gillian had sat in yesterday, with a small electric heater by it.
    She pulled her sweater over her head with both hands. Underneath she had on a sleeveless linen blouse. She undid the top two buttons, hesitated briefly. All the time she hadn’t taken her eyes off Hubert. He stood in front of the easel, turned away from her, busying himself with his sketching things. Even so, she turned her back on him when unbuttoning her jeans. They were quite tight, and she had to wriggle to get them off. She thought how silly that must look. She took off her thin kneesocks, and undid the rest of the buttons on her blouse. Then she asked Hubert for a hanger. At that stage he had to turn round, but he kept his eyes on her face.
    Linen creases so easily, she said, smiling, when he passed her a wire hanger.
    Now she had the feeling that the situation was under control. In her underwear she sat down on the chair.
    Do you want me to sit like yesterday?
    I thought …, Hubert began, but he didn’t finish the sentence.
    Gillian stood up, turned away, and quickly took off her bra and underpants. When she walked naked through the room, she moved differently than usual, slower and moreerect, a little stiffly. She was sure that Hubert was watching her now. The thought that he had already seen and painted so many women naked unsettled her. She folded her underwear under the other things on the sofa and sat down on the chair in front of the easel.
    Do you like what you see, then? she asked, and right away was furious with herself.
    Hubert didn’t reply. She had taken the same position as the day before and was happy at the way her crossed arms were shielding her. Hubert walked around for a while, and then very slowly approached her, repeatedly stopping to look at her. She tried to sense what was in his mind, his expression was serious and intent.
    Do you mind if I take some photographs?
    Gillian hesitated, then nodded.
    He clicked in a roll of film, then went in very close with the camera. He seemed to have more courage when he was able to hide behind the equipment. When the film had been shot off, he put it in an envelope and sealed it. Then at last he started sketching.
    The cane seat cut into her bottom, and the electric heater only warmed one side of her body. She tried to think of something else. She asked herself what she was doing there. If Matthias saw the painting, he was certain to make a huge scene. Of course he would recognize her, whatever Hubert said. And he would never believe that she hadn’t slept with the painter. He knew her past, for ten years after drama school she had done pretty much whatever she felt like doing. Sometimes she had slept with a man purely because she admired his lifestyle or because she wanted to know what it would feel like to deceive herboyfriend of the time. Matthias often quizzed her about those years, and she didn’t keep anything from him. Well, you’re mine now, she had often heard that sentence from him, and even though she didn’t much like the